Blood On Her Hands

Chapter 9

Against all odds, I beat my family home from the police station and managed to rub any emotional turmoil off of my face before they could detect something was wrong. I had raced up to my bedroom to change into something less put together to make it seem like I hadn’t gone out. I was bounding down the steps onto the first floor, my shirt half way down my back as I shrugged it on. Then I took the abandoned hair clip laying on the kitchen counter and threw my hair up. My bluelight glasses and laptop were waiting for me at the table. Just as the jangle of keys sounded from outside the front door, I was seated and typing away at my laptop furiously. 

Julio stepped into the house. He was always the first one home. 

“Hey Mickey,” he said, dropping his backpack on the floor and hanging up his sweater. “Busy day at work?” 

I pried my eyes away from the screen like I was completely enraptured in my work. In all honesty, I couldn’t have felt farther from it. “Yeah.” 

“We’ll be in the same boat soon. School starts this week.” Appeased, the teen went into the fridge and grabbed an energy drink. When his footsteps on the staircase grew quiet, I let out the breath I was holding. 

I could keep this secret from my family. I had to. 

The next day I received a call from Mac telling me I had a coffee date with the undercover cop assigned to my case in an hour. It made things seem more final, like there was no going back now.

"His name is Vincent Pham. He's pretty lanky, thick black hair and a brooding gaze. He kind of looks like he's in pain all the time. You'll know him when you see him," Detective Mac said, on the verge of chuckling. I imagined he had a friendship with the other detective if he felt comfortable enough to describe him like so. 

I hastily began getting dressed once my family had cleared out of the house. I tried to put together something work casual, something that would say "I am a very intelligent, dependable person" without simultaneously saying "I am compensating for the fear that I won't be taken seriously and you'll convict my family of drug trafficking." I settled on a simple black turtle neck since the weather was cool enough for it. 

I spent so much time in front of my vanity mirror rehearsing exactly how I would greet the undercover cop that I was running late. The cafe address Mac gave me was within walking distance but I ended up having to sprint. By the time I arrived at the building, sweat had formed on the back of my neck and forehead. 

It was a rooftop cafe, meaning I had to try and catch the elevator at the back of the building. I saw its doors just begin to close and bolted forward. I could make it if I was given an extra second. 

"Hold the elevator!" I shouted. There was a man inside who stood at the center. He saw me. I knew he did because we made brief eye contact. He probably heard me too but he kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket, unwilling to just push the button to give me more time. My annoyance must have propelled me forward because I reached the elevator soon enough to press the button before the steel doors came to a full close. They opened back up for me and I stepped inside. 

Winded and sweaty, I collapsed against the elevator wall. I checked the time on my phone. I was two minutes late. Then, I glanced up at the rude man who stood opposite to me. 

He was young. Tall and long limbed, his skin was soaked with the sun. His eyebrows were thick and perfectly threaded. I felt kind of embarrassed that they were better than mine. His hair was thick and wet, like he had taken a shower recently. When his eyes landed on me, I realized his jaw was clenched as he scowled. He looked like my very presence in the elevator was a literal pain in his ass. 

Oh. 

You'll know him when you see him, isn't that what Mac said? 

A sliver of recognition dawned on his face. I had an inkling that it was as reactive as he ever was. His face was free of wrinkles like it did nothing but remain solemn.